Lucky Penny (12 page)
“I think I made perfect sense the way I said it. If you want a mediator, fine, but if not, please refrain from finding fault with my goddamned English.” David silently congratulated
himself on coming up with a big word of his own.
Mediator
. Not bad for a man with a questionable stratum.
“I beg your pardon,” she said. “Truly, I do. Not another correction, I swear. I’m just very upset right now. Things simply pop out.”
Like telling him her husband’s ranch was near Taffeta Falls, maybe? David jerked on the front panels of his duster, flexed his shoulders, and tried to remember what the hell he’d been about to say. Oh, yeah. His stratum might be lacking, but his memory was good—
except
when it came to a roll in the hay with this woman.
“I think you and
I
ran into each other in Denver a few years ago, a one-night—” David broke off because every description that sprang to his mind was too coarse to say to a lady. “A one-night
romance
, I guess you could call it. I think we met, were having fun, and, oh, well, never mind. Back then, I drank pretty heavy when I went to Denver, not only at saloons, but even at cattlemen’s meetings and potlucks, which is likely where I met you.”
“We never met anywhere, let alone at a cattlemen’s potluck.”
David held up a hand for silence. “Let me say my piece. I think we met that way—or in a situation close to it. You don’t have the look of a sporting woman.”
She jerked up her chin. “Thank you for that much, at least.”
David nodded. “That accent definitely pegs you as a lady from back East. I’m not saying you went looking for trouble, or that I did. But, hello, honey, shit happens.” Glimpsing her appalled expression, he wished he could call back those words. “
Bad
things happen. Things we never plan to happen. If you lost your parents at a young age, maybe you came out West to live with relatives who didn’t look after you properly at social functions. I’ve always had an eye for fetching females. I probably approached you and struck up a conversation, and while we talked, we drank too much spiked punch.
“When we were both well into our cups, maybe we went for a walk in the moonlight, and the situation got out of hand. Knowing me, I was probably pie-eyed and not thinking
straight before I even got to the function. Back in those days I tended to follow my nose straight into trouble, and I obviously found it that night. After I left the potluck, I undoubtedly went to a saloon and got even drunker to finish off the evening. It wasn’t uncommon back then for me to wake up of a morning with no recollection of what went on the night before, so I would have had no memory of my encounter with you. So I took off for my ranch outside of No Name. A few months later, you realized I’d left my calling card, and you didn’t know how to find me. You ended up in desperate straits, borrowed my name, possibly the only thing you could clearly remember about me except that you thought I lived in Denver, and set out to raise a child born out of wedlock with some semblance of respectability.”
He broke off and swallowed to steady his voice. “No proper young lady should be placed in that position. If we drank spiked punch, it was my responsibility to look after you, not take advantage of you. All the hard times and misfortunes that have befallen you since are entirely
my
fault. The situation you and my daughter are in right now is
my
fault. Why can’t you understand that I can’t walk away from that or that I didn’t come here to cause you grief? And, damn it to hell, why do you refuse to admit what’s as obvious to me as the nose on my face, that Daphne is my daughter?”
“Because she
isn’t
!”
David could scarcely credit her response. He’d given her every out, accepting the blame for everything, and she still wouldn’t acknowledge the corn. “I am here to right a wrong. You can’t stand there and tell me you don’t need help. It’s obvious that you do, and I’m offering it. If you choose not to marry me, fine. But at least let me get you and my child out of this hellhole, set you up in a decent home, cover your living costs, and allow me to be a part of my daughter’s life.”
“Never. I can’t accept help of that magnitude from a complete stranger. You’re not her father. Your story is plausible, I suppose, but it is nothing but that, a story you made up. It has no relation to the actual truth. There’s no
earthly reason why I should even allow you to see Daphne again.”
David had done his best to remove the fuse from this keg of dynamite. Now she was waving a lighted match again. He hadn’t set out to ride roughshod over this lady, but he’d be damned if she would deprive him of the right to be a proper father to his child. “Don’t bite off more than you can chew,” he said softly. “I
will
see my daughter again—trust me on that—and you’ll play hell trying to stop me.”
She pushed away from the building and took a step toward him. The Irish temper David had suspected might lurk beneath her proper, ladylike exterior finally revealed itself. She spat words at him like they were bullets, and the expression in her eyes told him plainly enough that she wished they were. “After listening to this piece of fiction, Mr. Paxton, I’ve come to agree with you. This is clearly a matter to be taken before the town marshal. You, sir, are a lunatic of the first order. I would not consort with a man of your caliber even if I were inebriated. We never met at a Denver potluck. We never sipped spiked punch together. We
never
created a child together. In point of fact, we have never even
met
.”
David wasn’t intimidated by her flare of anger. Even with some meat on her bones, she’d still be a woman of diminutive stature. Then, to his utter amazement, she dared to poke him in the chest with her finger—sharp little thumps that might have unbalanced him if he’d been standing on uneven ground. Grown men who were fast with guns avoided confrontations with him, but this pint-size female thought she could stand toe to toe with him? He almost laughed. Luckily for her, he’d been raised to respect the opposite sex and would never lift his hand to a woman, no matter what she did to provoke him.
That didn’t mean he had to stand there and let her thump him. He caught her wrist. The network of bones that pressed against his fingers felt as fragile as a bird’s. “You’ll get no argument from me. This is definitely a matter to be taken before the authorities, but I’ll not be satisfied with
pleading my case to only a marshal. Is there a bona fide judge in this poor excuse for a town?”
She jerked free of his grasp. “There most certainly is! So make free. You’ve no proof whatsoever that Daphne is your child. You can’t just waltz into our lives and claim paternity, based on the flimsy fact that we bear the same last name. You’ll leave with my daughter over my dead body!”
“We’ll see about that. I’ll be off to arrange a hearing with both the judge and the marshal.”
She tried to push past him to gain the street. David was so angry that he braced a shoulder against her and set her back a step. She staggered, caught her balance, and treated him to a glare that made his face burn. What he’d just done was unpardonable, and he knew he should apologize, but when he tried to push out the words, he almost choked on them.
“I’ve lived in this town for six years,” she told him. “Daphne was only an infant when I arrived. The judge knows me. The marshal does as well. Do you
really
think either of them will take the word of a stranger over mine?” She jerked her head up to make a regal exit as she swept around him, skirts held high. “Poppycock! You may be wearing a badge, but you could have gotten it anywhere. You look more like a roughrider than a lawman. They will laugh and send you packing.”
David couldn’t help but admire her pluck. He leaned a shoulder against the corner of the building and called after her. “Mrs. Paxton?”
At his form of address, she stopped like she’d run into a wall and turned to face him.
David had a lot of practice with showdowns, and in that moment, he knew he had her outclassed nine ways to hell. It didn’t take fancy talk and a highfalutin accent to get his point across. “We’ve got a performance at the schoolhouse to attend tonight. I think Daphne deserves to have both her mother
and
father there. I’ll come back with you and tell that simpering old maid that you’re coming with me. And I’ll arrange a meeting with the judge for tonight, if possible. I’ve got a job and a ranch to tend to back home, so the quicker this is settled, the better.”
She glared at him, her cheeks flagged with crimson. “I have a position of employment, sir. I’ve already taken one leave of absence today, and I can’t afford to take another. I can’t possibly attend the schoolhouse entertainment tonight—or a meeting. Make arrangements for tomorrow.”
“From now on, I’ll be assuming responsibility for the support of our child. That being the case, you can afford to miss a little more work. You’ll be leaving soon, anyhow.”
For a moment, David half expected her to launch a physical attack on him. Instead, she drew herself up to her full height, which wasn’t all that impressive, and turned her back on him. As infuriated as he was, he couldn’t suppress a smile. She was one hell of a lady. He had to give her that. And even in a temper, she was, hands down, the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.
S
Oh, God, oh, God
. David Paxton was dangerous. Out in the alley, she’d bungled the exchange, trying to stick to her original story even after he started rebutting her claims. Over the last six years, no one else had picked apart her tale, let alone asked where her nonexistent husband’s fictitious ranch had been located. What earthly difference did it make? To a normal person, it was a small detail and of no great importance, but for reasons beyond her, David Paxton seemed bent on discrediting everything she said. Was he daft? How else could he possibly believe that he had fathered a child with a woman he’d never met?
In truth, Brianna had never been intimate with anyone.
Sweet Mother Mary
. What if
that
came out—that she wasn’t Daphne’s real mother, but only her aunt? She might have no legal claim to the little girl at all then.
Her stomach rolled, and she swallowed down the salty taste
of nausea. Paxton had even gone so far as to say he wouldn’t leave Glory Ridge without Daphne. Was she overreacting to perceive that as a threat? He
couldn’t
take Daphne! She was the child’s mother in every way except biologically, and
the only people who knew the truth were clear back in Boson. There were
laws
. He was a stranger who’d shown up out of the blue. Surely neither the marshal nor the judge would credit his outrageous claims of paternity. That stupid birthmark story, for instance. That splotch on Daphne’s neck had indeed been there since birth, but it wasn’t dark enough to be an actual birthmark. It was only a strawberry patch. Lots of people were born with one, and over time it faded away.
Brianna pressed her shaking fingers against her eyes with such force that she saw spots. After several deep breaths, her heartbeat slowed, and she felt the sweat born of panic dry on her skin. She had to keep calm if she planned to find a way out of this mess.
She rose to drape her shawl over the trunk where she kept Daphne’s blankets, yardage scraps, and sewing notions. Her hands, still cold from being outdoors, felt numb. She began to pace the small cubicle, chafing her arms with brisk passes of her palms over the puffed sleeves of her shirtwaist. The smell of hot bacon grease and sautéing onions drifted from Abigail’s quarters. The odor turned Brianna’s stomach. How did that disagreeable woman manage to remain pencil thin when she ate so often? The question no sooner entered Brianna’s mind than she tossed it out. She needed to concentrate on far more important matters. If Paxton arranged a meeting with the judge and marshal, she would have to be rock solid with her story, not allowing his questions or allegations to unnerve her. To all intents and purposes, she
was
Daphne’s mama. No one could disprove that. Could they?
An alarming thought occurred to her. Paxton didn’t look like any lawman she’d ever seen, but he did wear a badge. What if he actually was a marshal? Might he not have the resources to check out her story? She never should have told him she’d been abandoned as an infant. There weren’t that many orphanages in Boston. If he started digging and had the necessary funds to hire investigators back East, he would eventually contact the correct institution, and the truth about Daphne’s mother would come out. Such a discovery would nullify Paxton’s claim
that he was the child’s father, but it might also invalidate Brianna’s entitlements. Would a court grant Brianna the right to raise her niece when she was all but penniless? And, oh, God, if the authorities took Daphne, what would happen to her? So far as Brianna knew, there were no decent orphanages closer than the one in Denver, and she could not attest to its quality.
She spun to a dizzying halt to stare at Mrs. Pauder’s crumpled dress.
Stop this,
she ordered herself.
You’re working yourself into a fine dither. That won’t help the situation. You must keep a clear head. Stay calm. David Paxton doesn’t have the look of a wealthy man. He will never part company with enough money to hire professional investigators, and even if he does, a process like that takes time. You can run with Daphne, if you must. You have the remainder of her dress money. That should be enough to hire a horse and travel to the nearest railway. You can book passage from there to a large town, change your name, and no one will ever find you.
She felt better with that half-formulated plan taking shape in her mind. She heard Abigail bumping around in her quarters. The warning sent her diving for the sewing chair. By the time the proprietress flung back the cubicle curtain, Brianna was, to all appearances, hard at work.
